by Nic Saint
“She totally hasn’t,” Marisa said. “In fact she added another one just now, to go with the selfie she made with Hot Co—I mean Blane.”
“I’ll have you know I kept all of my clothes on this time,” said Maya. “It’s totally tasteful.”
“Just remove all of that stuff, will you?” I asked. “Especially now, with this murder investigation hanging over our heads, we don’t need this.”
“Yeah, it’s totally disrespectful,” Marisa agreed. “Not that your other pictures aren’t disrespectful, cause they are. But posting this stuff now is even more disrespectful than usual.”
“How is this disrespectful?” Maya asked, gesturing at her body, which was currently clad in a tank top and boxers. “The human body can never be disrespectful. Besides, my pictures are art—and I specifically dedicated this last one to the memory of Doctor Ratchett.”
“Reckitt,” I corrected, giving her my best glare.
She ignored it, as usual. “I can’t disappoint my Mayflowers,” she said staunchly. “All five hundred thousand of them. My Mayflowers love me. They expect me to be myself. To celebrate my God-given beauty on a daily basis.”
I groaned again. Mayflower was the name Maya had given her fans. She wanted to call them her Beehive, but that name was already reserved for Beyoncé fans, who called themselves the Beyhive. “Well, your Mayflowers will just have to do without your God-given beauty for a while,” I said. “At least until we put this murder business behind us. We’re under the microscope now, Maya, the eyes of the entire nation on us, so we don’t want to come across as disrespectful.”
“Oh, but I am respectful,” Maya said. “I’m totally respectful. So when is Blane coming back?”
“Tomorrow morning. We’re going to interview the remaining visitors and try to figure out what happened on that ride.”
“Is he coming by the house or are you going to be cooped up in that command center of yours all day?” I leveled a scathing look at her and she finally threw up her hands. “Oh, all right. I get it. You tell us you’re not interested in Blane but secretly you are. It’s totally fine. If you want him, you can have him. There, how is that for being respectful?”
“I told you, I’m not interested in Blane Jamison.”
Maya directed a knowing look at Marisa. “She wants him.”
“Totally,” Marisa agreed.
For once my two sisters were on the same page. It rarely happened, and when it did, I liked it even less than when they were at each other’s throats.
“So are you going to wait until he asks you out or are you going to take the initiative?” Maya asked, letting herself drop down on my couch again.
“I’m not going to do anything!”
“A bold move but I like it,” said Maya.
“Old-fashioned,” said Marisa. “Nowadays girls can ask a boy out, you know. It’s fine. I mean, if you like him—and you obviously do—you should just go for it. Or you can wait until he asks you, that’s totally cool, too. Just go with whatever your gut tells you.”
“My gut tells me I’m going to throw you both out and get some sleep.”
“So you can dream of Blane Jamison,” Maya said, nodding knowingly.
“I’m not going to dream of Blane Jamison!” I cried.
“She’s going to dream of Blane Jamison,” Maya said.
“Totally,” Marisa said with a smirk.
They both got up—probably because I was giving them my best evil eye—and walked out. “If you want to get the lowdown on Blane, just give me the word,” Marisa said. “I can totally dig into the police database for you. But only if you want me to. Cause it’s kinda illegal to do so. But for you I’d do it in a heartbeat. Because I love you. And I want you to be happy. With Blane Jamison.”
“No, I don’t want you to hack the police database,” I said.
Marisa isn’t merely in charge of marketing and PR, she’s also something of a computer whiz, and manages the computer network Charleneland runs on.
“It’s not really hacking,” she said. “The Sapsucker server is run so badly even a ten-year-old can access it in a heartbeat. No hacking required.”
“Stay away from the Sapsucker police server,” I told her. “And you,” I added, turning to Maya, “stay away from social media. At least until we solve this murder.”
“Sure thing, sis,” she said blithely, and skipped away happily, probably to go post another update to her squad of Mayflowers.
“She’s impossible,” said Marisa with a shake of the head. “I blame Charlene’s bad example.”
“Don’t mess with the police server, Marisa,” I said. “I mean it.”
“Oh, I wasn’t going to,” she said. “Just if you wanted me to. And now that you told me you don’t want me, I’m not going to. Sweet dreams, sis,” she said, giving me a quick hug. “And if you meet Hot Cop in your dreams, tell him I said hi.”
“His name is Blane!” I yelled after her as she disappeared into her own room.
“Settle down, honey!” Dad’s voice sounded from my parents’ room. “We know his name is Blane—you don’t have to shout it from the rooftops.”
“I think it’s sweet,” I heard my mom tell him. “She misses him already.”
“Ugh,” I groaned, and slammed my door shut.
Chapter 17
I came down for breakfast the next morning bright and early. And in spite of my sisters’ insistence, I hadn’t dreamed of Blane Jamison. I hadn’t dreamed at all, as far as I could tell, though that wasn’t possible, of course.
“Hey, honey,” Mom said as she poured me a cup of coffee. “You’re up early.”
“I’m always up early,” I said. “It’s Maya and Marisa that are always late.”
“No, usually you’re the last one to arrive for breakfast. Well, that’s not true. Charlene arrives when everyone else has eaten already.”
“Not today,” said Charlene as she came waltzing into the kitchen. She stifled a yawn. Her face wasn’t made up, her hair was a mess, and she was wearing a housecoat. She looked like a completely different woman.
“What happened?” I asked. “Did you fall out of bed and roll down the stairs?”
“Ha ha, very funny,” she said as she plunked down on the chair next to me and took a sip from my coffee. “I slept horribly. That whole scene with Phoenix just kept on replaying in my mind over and over. Please tell me she’s not going to take Charleneland away from us.”
“She’s not. She’s just making a lot of noise as usual.”
“A lot of bark and no bite,” Mom assured Charlene. “That’s Phoenix.”
“I hope so,” said Charlene, holding her head in her hands. “I don’t feel so good. If we lose Charleneland my career is over. I haven’t had a hit in twenty years and no producer is willing to work with me this late in my career.”
“We should do a duet,” Maya said, joining us. “The young generation and the old generation joining forces. That always works. And I can tell my Mayflowers all about it. Create some buzz.”
“Tell your flowers they should come visit Charleneland. Give us some support. How are the numbers?” Charlene asked Marisa, who came in yawning cavernously.
Marisa took off her glasses and polished them with the hem of her pajamas. “Too soon to tell. Yesterday’s numbers were great. We’ll know about today by lunchtime.”
“What are people saying on social media?” I asked.
“Well, there’s been a big outpouring of sympathy on our Facebook page,” said Marisa. “Most people seem to believe it was an accident.”
“Let’s hope it stays that way,” said Mom, placing a plate of pancakes on the table.
“Oh, not for me, thank you,” said Maya, rubbing her tummy. “I’m on the paleo diet.”
“I did the paleo diet,” said Charlene.
“You did? And how was it?” Maya asked enthusiastically.
“Gained ten pounds. Total waste of time.” She took a pancake, slathered it with butter and stuffed
it into her mouth.
Maya stared at her, aghast. “How do you do it, Charlene? How do you stay so thin?”
“Plastic surgery,” Charlene said between two bites. “Best diet ever.”
“Mom,” said my mother. “Don’t encourage her.”
Charlene shrugged. “A nip and a tuck isn’t so bad. And lipo, of course.”
“You’re too young for plastic surgery, honey,” Mom told Maya before she could open her mouth. “You’re not having it.”
“I’m twenty-two, Mom,” Maya said. “I can have plastic surgery.”
“No, you can’t. End of discussion. Now eat your pancakes.”
“But my Mayflowers tell me I’m fat!”
“Screw your Mayflowers,” Mom said, and we all gawked at her. “Eat.”
“Mom!”
But Mom directed one of her trademark looks at Maya and she shut up.
“That’s better,” she said, then turned to Charlene. “Stop setting a bad example, Charlene. Plastic surgery is no laughing matter.”
“Oh, all right, hold your horses,” Charlene muttered. She turned to Maya. “Forget what I said. A healthy lifestyle goes a long way. And it’s way cheaper than surgery. And when your flowers give you any more lip, get rid of them. They’re not the boss of you. You are the boss of you.” And after a pointed look from Mom, she added, “And your mother, of course. Remember that. Your mother is always right.”
“Thanks, Charlene,” said Maya with a grateful smile. “But are you sure about the pancakes? They’re full of butter and sugar and acrylamides and stuff.”
“Just eat the damn pancake,” Charlene ordered, and shared a wink with Mom.
Maya looked up to Charlene, though she rarely set a good example. Only when Mom made her.
Dad came into the kitchen, and I started. He looked pale and drawn, his face lined. “Dad,” I said, alarmed. “Are you all right?”
“Never better,” he said with a chuckle. “So, big day today, huh? Let’s hope you catch us a killer and we can finally put this whole crazy business behind us.”
Mom directed a worried look at Dad. “You do look tired, honey. Are you sure you don’t want to take a day off?”
“Nonsense. I feel fine! Fit as a fiddle.” A sudden look of anguish flitted across his face as he touched his shoulder and rubbed it. “Hurt my shoulder yesterday,” he said when he caught us all staring at him. “No big deal.”
“Maybe no pancakes for you today, Clive,” Charlene said. “And no coffee.”
Dad gave her a big smile. “Thank you for that piece of advice, Doctor Simple. But I’ll have my daily cup o’ joe and my pancake, thank you very much.” When we kept staring at him, he repeated, “I’m fine! Stop looking like you’ve just seen a ghost.”
“This whole thing has taken a lot out of all of us,” said Mom. “Maybe when this is all over we should take a break. Go on vacation.”
“And leave Charleneland to take care of itself?” asked Dad. “Rubbish. We’ll take a vacation when the high season is over, just like we always do.”
“Except for me,” Charlene said. “Never any breaks for poor old Charlene.”
“I’ve told you this a million times, Mom,” said my mother. “If you wanted to, you could slow down. Take a month off. Take two months off.”
But Charlene waved a hand. “Who’s going to do the show if not me?”
“I could take over a couple of days a week,” Maya suggested. “And we’ve got a great lineup that could jump in when you take a well-deserved vacation.”
“I don’t think so,” Charlene said pointedly. “You’re not ready, Maya.”
“Oh, God, not the same argument again,” said Marisa, who saw Maya gearing up for another showdown with her grandmother. “Can we go one breakfast without this stupid fighting?”
“Who’s fighting?” Charlene asked. “I’m not fighting. I never fight. Other people pick fights with me, and when they do, they find I give as good as I get.”
“You know?” Maya asked, suddenly getting up from the table. “You can have your stupid Charleneland. From now on I’ll have nothing more to do with this whole stupid park! I’ll make my own park! I’ll open… Mayaland! And my Mayflowers will support me!”
And she stomped off, leaving Charlene rolling her eyes and the rest of us heaving deep sighs of annoyance. It wasn’t the first time Maya had threatened to leave Charleneland and go out on her own and it wouldn’t be the last.
“Sooner or later you’re going to have to give Maya what she wants,” I told Charlene. “You can’t keep disappointing her forever. One day she’ll walk, and then what?”
“Then I’ll still be here, running Charleneland without her. I don’t need her,” Charlene said, her tone suddenly hard. “I don’t need any of you. This is my park. I launched it all by myself and I can run it all by myself if I need to.”
“No, you can’t,” I said. “This is a family business. We’re all in this together. And either you wise up, or I swear to God I’m going to cancel your daily show myself and put Maya on that stage from now on.”
She gasped and stared at me. “You wouldn’t!”
“Oh, I most definitely would,” I said. “She deserves a chance, and if you’re not going to give it to her, I will.”
“This park is called Charleneland,” she said shrilly. “Not Ruggland!”
“And pretty soon this park will be closed if we don’t all stick together!”
“She’s right, Mom,” said my mother. “You’re being unreasonable.”
“I’m Charlene. Unreasonable is my middle name.”
“Let’s all take a step back from the precipice,” Dad suggested. “Like Mia said, this is a family business. We make the decisions as a family. And I vote that when we make it through this murder business in one piece, we take a long, hard look at the future of Charleneland.” He eyed his mother-in-law from beneath glowering brows. “Maya, Mia and Marisa are the future, Charlene. They’ll ensure this park keeps on running long after we’re all gone. Remember that.”
“After I’m gone, you mean,” she said stiffly. “Well, I have no intention of going anywhere. I’m only sixty-five. I’m still young. I’m going to be around forever!”
“Good luck with that,” I muttered as I got up and threw down my napkin.
Just then, a man clad in a nicely tailored charcoal suit entered our kitchen. He must have walked in off the street, for he didn’t exactly look like a tourist. He was holding a briefcase and his eyes darted around the table until they landed on Charlene. “Charlene Simple?” he asked in a stentorian voice.
“That’s me,” said Charlene, tilting her head back out of habit.
He placed an envelope in her hand. “You’ve been served.”
Charlene’s jaw dropped. “What? Who are you? What is this?”
The man shrugged. “Just read the summons. It’s all in there. Have a good day.” He tipped an imaginary hat and walked out.
Charlene opened the envelope with trembling fingers and read the first few lines. She uttered a startled cry and the document fell from her fingers.
I snatched it up. It was a court summons for a lawsuit Phoenix had filed against Charlene, for slander, defamation of character and assault and battery.
Chapter 18
Charlene was still sitting in her seat, her eyes red and her face wet with tears, when Blane walked in. He took in the scene, with Charlene a sobbing mess, Dad’s face ashen, Mom’s brow furrowed and Marisa and me chewing our lips, and asked, “What’s wrong? What’s happened?” He frowned. “Don’t tell me there’s been another murder.”
“A murder in progress!” Charlene bellowed. “A case of character assassination, Detective Jamison!”
Blane’s eyes cut to the summons lying on Charlene’s plate and he shook his head. “So she went and did it, huh? I didn’t think she’d carry out her threat.”
“Who? Phoenix?” I asked.
He nodded, planting his hands on his hips. “Yeah, when we arr
ested her last night she threatened to sue the police department, Charleneland and Charlene herself for assault and battery, defamation of character, slander, libel and whatever else she could think of. Not that she has a case.”
“We have to countersue,” Marisa said with a serious nod. “We can’t let her bullyrag us like this. This time she’s gone too far.”
“We’ll have to speak with our lawyers,” Dad agreed.
“I’ll call them right now,” Marisa said, walking out.
“You better go with Blane, honey,” said Mom. “Solve this murder business. We’ll take care of Charlene.”
I nodded. She was right. There was nothing I could do here. My priorities at this moment lay elsewhere. So I followed Blane out of the kitchen and out of the house.
“Your father doesn’t look too good,” Blane now said.
“He’s worried. This murder thing is eating away at him.”
“Well, let’s hope today will see us finding some answers. Did you set up the interviews?”
“Mh?” I was lost in thought for a moment, thinking about my family.
“The interviews?”
“Oh, yes. I’ve set up two interviews now, and two more later. They already had plans for this morning and I didn’t want them to think they were suspects or anything.”
“Good thinking. So far the media is convinced this thing was an accident, and we’d like to keep it that way.”
“You know what I’ve been wondering all this time?” I asked as we set foot for the Sapsucker Lodge, the hotel our family ran at Charleneland.
“What’s that?”
“Where is your partner? I mean, don’t you detectives usually come in pairs?”
He grinned. “You’ve been watching too many cop shows. It depends on the department and the size of the detective bureau. Us Sapsucker PD detectives usually work alone, unless we need backup, and then we ask a colleague to tag along.”
“So… I’m kinda like your partner now, huh?”
“Kinda,” he agreed. “Though officially I’m still the one in charge, as I’m the cop and you’re the civilian. But seeing as this is your park, you provide me with some invaluable assistance.”